


praying for love in a lap dance

by ShippingEverything



Series: but i'm afraid that i, well, i may have faked it [2]
Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Hook-Up, M/M, One Night Stands, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, inner me: what if you wrote Alternate Universe Forgetting You instead, me: im going to write an epilogue for Forgetting You
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-22
Updated: 2017-03-14
Packaged: 2018-09-23 15:13:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9663035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippingEverything/pseuds/ShippingEverything
Summary: Hey would u be my best man?Hanschen leans back in this chair and runs a hand over his eyes.No, fuck you, I can’t believe you would, Hanschen types, then erases all of it. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.Of course, He texts eventually,Who else would you choose?or: Hanschen Rilow is sad and alone. This is the world that could've been





	1. let you kill this chorus

**Author's Note:**

> hey! you should probably read the first fic in this series first but hey, you dont have to i guess??? im not your parent. just know that this is an au of my own au??? idk im having a good time and i love suffering, so here we are. enjoy!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is what Forgetting You shouldve been, a angsty emo story about hanschen suffering, sleeping with melchior once, and not being happy. i wasnt going to write it but then i was procrastinating from writing an essay so here we are. basically: au where 1. hanschen isnt as close with melchior as he was in the original fic, 2. they dont sleep together that first time, and 3. they never fall in love
> 
> chapter titles from Lying Is The Most Fun..., fic title from It's Better If You Do
> 
> please enjoy

A picture comes in on Hanschen’s phone between one meeting and the next. He doesn’t check it right then, because he starts talking with one of the men from finance, but his breath catches in this throat when he looks at it later. In sharp, dark text, it exclaims **I said yes!** and it’s accompanied by a picture of a tasteful silver ring with an inset diamond resting daintily on one of the slender fingers that Hanschen knows almost better than he knows his own hands. He sits at his tiny cubicle at the boring job that he hates and stares at the text, at the evidence that Ernst has now and forever chosen Moritz. He has other notifications, from Thea and Wendla, but he can’t tear his eyes from the picture. His phone buzzes with another text, from Ernst.

**Hey would u be my best man?**

Hanschen leans back in this chair and runs a hand over his eyes. _No, fuck you, I can’t believe you would_ , Hanschen types, then erases all of it. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

**_Of course,_** He texts eventually, **_Who else would you choose?_**

**Idk maybe sm1 who I know won’t embarrass me during his best man speech?**

Hanschen takes a deep breath. Hanschen looks at the speckled grey ceiling. Hanschen thinks, _What did I do to deserve this? How did I get here?_

**_I wouldn’t embarrass you._** He texts back.

Ernst responds with a chipper **haha I know** and seven sparkly hearts, and Hanschen straight up wants to _die_. He pulls up his other texts, an **are you okay?** from Thea and a **Drinks!!! On me and Ilse!** From Wendla. He sends Thea a shrugging emoticon and she sends back **#relatable** and **i’m here if you need me**. Wendla gets **_I don’t need your pity drinks._**

Less than five seconds after he sends the text, his phone begins to vibrate with a call. He picks it up.

“I’m at work,” He says.

“I don’t care,” Wendla says, her voice sharp and unyielding, so different than what he’s normally used to with her. “We’re going to talk.”  
Hanschen huffs, leaning back in his chair. “We’re talking right now.”  
“ _Hanschen_ ,” Wendla says, sounding disappointed and pitying all at once. Hanschen squeezes his eyes shut. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you want me to say? That I’m shocked, even though he’s been head over heel for Stiefel for years? That I wish, all those years ago, that I hadn’t agreed to be his friend? That I don’t know how I’m going to be his best man and pretend to be _happy_ for him? What do you want, Wendla?”

It’s quiet for a moment, nothing but the static of the phone and the general low level noise of his office. Then, Wendla says, “You don’t have to do this.”

Hanschen snorts, though it’s brittle and humorless. “I get enough sad looks from the rest of you without ducking out of being his best man, thank you.”

“Then at least come to drinks with us,” Wendla says, and then before he can respond she rushes on, “They won’t be pity drinks, Ilse misses you and so do I.”

Hanschen sighs deeply, but he knows that Wendla is stubborn as a mule when she puts her mind to it.

“Fine,” He says, eventually. She whoops loudly in his ear and he flinches, “Fine, but-”

“You won’t regret this, Hanschen! I’ll text you the name of the place.”

She hangs up before he can get another word in. **_I’m not going to stay out for long_** , he texts her. She responds, **Sure you aren’t ^.^**

He sighs again. It's going to be a long day.

* * *

Hanschen shows up at the bar as soon as possible. He hasn’t changed from his work clothes and he doesn’t intend to stay for long; just enough to have a drink, give the girls his regards, and shoo off their worries about him.

This all falls out of his head when he walks over to the round table that the girls have gotten and sees Melchior Gabor, gulping down a drink.

“Whatever happened to _‘_ these aren’t pity drinks _’_?” Hanschen snaps at Wendla, who at least pretends to look contrite, “Oh, I know, you just _coincidentally_ gathered up the two most pitiful people you know to get drinks with. Of _course_.”

“You’re being rude,” Wendla says, “Melchior is hurting too and we said that he could come-”

“Who said that _I’m_ hurting?” Hanschen asks. It comes out louder than he intends it to, fueled by his anger and embarrassment and shame, and he sees a few of the bar's patrons look over. He huffs and lowers his voice. “I was going to play nice, Wendla, I was going to pretend that we didn’t all know why you really invited me out and I was going to have a drink and I was going to try to enjoy myself, but now I’m going home.”

“Hanschen,” Ilse starts, but he’s tired and upset and he doesn’t really care for either of their explanations right now.

“Did he make you the best man too?” Melchior’s question makes Hanschen stop.

"Did they not tell you about my ' _woes_ '?" Hanschen asks, without turning around. Melchior makes a soft noise and Hanschen, despite everything in his mind telling him not to, turns around. "Yes, he made me his best man."

"Same, obv'lously," Melchior says, slurs, really. He takes a swig of whatever he's drinking--something bright orange and red. "It fuckin'  _sucks_."

"Yes, well," Hanschen pauses and really looks at Melchior. It's been awhile since Hanschen has seen Melchior--they were all great friends in college, but when Ernst and Moritz started dating near the end of senior year and he denied Melchior's invitation for a commiseratory drink, they just never connected again; then there'd been schoolwork and then there'd been graduation and, somehow, it's been over a year since he'd last seen Melchior. He looks different, older and more tired. Hanschen sighs. "It does."

Something close to a smile spreads across Melchior's face. "And you're, what, gonna go home? Sit alone in your apartment and cry over, I don't fuckin' know, some terrible romcom with a bowl of ice cream and a pot of Irish coffee?"

" _Melchior_ ," Wendla hisses. Melchior doesn't listen to her.

"Listen, blondie, I know we're not friends an' it seems like they're just shovin' us together but lemme give you some friendly advice," Melchior leans forward, "Alcohol tastes a helluva lot better when you don't have to pay for it, even if the company is shit."

Hanschen stares at Melchior with furrowed brows and Melchior readily meets his eye, raising an eyebrow in challenge. Hanschen thinks, _What's the worse that could happen?_ and sits down. "I have a keurig, and I'd never subject myself to whiskey  _or_ bad romantic comedies."

Melchior snorts, "Yeah, 'course, you're probably more a 'wine and historical dramas' guy, right?"

Hanschen rolls his eyes but doesn't answer, mostly because Melchior is right. He turns to Ilse and Wendla. "What are you drinking?"

"Melchior and I have tequila sunrises and Ilse is drinking some kind of German beer. What do you want?" Wendla answers, cautious but happy.

"Gin and tonic," Hanschen says. 

"I'll get it," Ilse says, winking at Hanschen, "I know the bartender."

"Not too strong!" Hanschen yells after Ilse, but he knows that it's really no use; she'll get the bartender to make it as strong as she thinks that Hanschen needs it, no matter what Hanschen himself says. "She's going to give me alcohol poisoning."

"But it'll be out of love," Wendla says, bumping his shoulder. "Thank you, for staying."

Hanschen sighs, though he can't deny the fond undertones in it. "Thank you, for inviting me."

* * *

An hour later finds Hanschen on his second drink and Wendla and Ilse 'in the bathroom', which is probably code for 'making out in the back hallway like the overgrown teenagers they are'. 

"D'ya think they're gonna fuck in the bathroom," Melchior asks, his head resting on the table. Hanschen makes a noise of disgust.

"I wouldn't want to know," He says. Then, after Melchior lifts his head to stare blankly at Hanschen, "Fine! Yes, probably."

Melchior rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair. "They're supposed to be cheerin'  _us_ up. They should be findin'  _us_ people to hook up with."

Hanschen snorts, "Don't say that in front of them or they'll find set us up with the first two willing people they see out of  _guilt_."

"Might not be _too_ bad," Melchior says, looking down at his glass, "I mean, I'm willing, I'm assumin' you'd be willing, it wouldn't be  _that_ bad."

Hanschen pauses as Melchior's words sink in, shocked. He cautiously laughs, "That's a terrible line, you'd need better than that to pick someone up."

"But what about you?" Melchior asks, locking eyes with Hanschen with an intensity that makes Hanschen shiver, "Was it good enough to pick  _you_ up?"

Hanschen swallows heavily. Hanschen looks at Melchior; at how he looks tired but still just as handsome as he's always been, at how sincere he looks even through his drink. Hanschen nods. In nearly no time, Melchior has moved from his chair across the table, to Wendla's and he has his hands on Hanschen's arms.

"Is this okay?" Melchior asks.

_God, I want this_ , Hanschen realizes. "Yeah," He says. 

When Melchior kisses him, it's not anything super great. Melchior taste like gasoline-- _Fucking tequila_ , Hanschen thinks--and orange juice and cinnamon, and neither of them is entirely sober or in control of their motor functions so they bump noses painfully, and they have to keep stopping to breathe because Melchior apparently doesn't know how to breathe when he's kissing, but it  _fits_. Hanschen's life has been lacking for so long and kissing Melchior doesn't make fireworks explode behind his eyes or make him tingle head to toe, but it feels good and  _right_ and like something that Hanschen's needed. 

"Sorry, guys-  _Oh my god_ ," A voice says, and Hanschen's eyes snap open as he and Melchior break apart. Hanschen looks up and sees Wendla, frozen in shock, and Ilse, grinning like she just found a goldmine. He removes his hand from Melchior's hair as if burned and stands up. 

"Um," He says, looking between the three of them. "I should go."

"Hanschen, no," Ilse says, clearly trying to quell her smile, "Don't think you have to-"

"It's late," Hanschen says, "Really, I should go."

Wendla opens her mouth, but Hanschen sees Melchior shake his head out of the corner of his eye and Wendla huffs and rolls her eyes but doesn't say anything. Hanschen nods and says his goodbyes, keeping his eyes averted from Melchior all the while. He steps outside to call an uber, leaning against the grimy wall of the bar. He looks up at the stars and thinks,  _Jesus christ, I should go back in._ He sighs, looks down, roughly rubs his hands over his eyes, but before he can steel himself for going back, his phone buzzes as his uber approaches. He gets in, but as the car drives away he can't help but look back at the bar and wonder if he's made a mistake.


	2. and your heart is racing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the finale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shrugs loudly
> 
> reposted bc ao3 hates me
> 
> theres a non explicit bj in here and it lasts literally 1 paragraph and you can 100% tell when its coming

Hanschen is the perfect best man. He goes to fittings for suits, he finds them a place to get their cake, he plans a fun but low-key bachelor party. He talks to the wedding planner, he helps organize the seating chart for the reception, he gets their wedding registry together. He smiles until his cheeks hurt, he grinds his teeth together until they ache, he says “I’m so happy for them!” over and over and over again until he almost believes it. He does a _good job_ , and tries to pretend that it doesn't kill him whenever Ernst smiles at Moritz, holds it together just right when Ernst sloppily cries over his wedding vows because he's so nauseatingly in love, turns his grimace into a grin when the priest says _“You may now kiss the groom”_.

At the reception, he holds a glass of champagne up and says “Moritz and Ernst are the real thing, they've been meant to be for ages and they deserve all the happiness in the world,” and then he downs that and two more flutes at the open bar.

Anna, who he hasn't seen in _months_ and is only flying in for the weekend before she has to go back out of state to her job and new girlfriend, wheels by him. She pauses. “Are you okay, Hanschen?”

“Of course,” Hanschen says, sipping on his fourth flute of champagne because he has no intention of getting wasted at the wedding, “Why wouldn't I be?”

He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth. He hadn't meant to ask a leading question like that because Anna is too smart and emotionally intelligent to have _not_ noticed, even after only being around Hanschen for a day, and because she's too nice and well-meaning to leave well enough alone. _That’s clearly enough_ , he thinks, putting down the flute and waving down the bartender to get some water.

“Well, if you don't mind me saying so,” Anna says, voice hesitant. Hanschen tenses up like he's expecting a physical blow. “We all know how you do, or did, feel about Ernst, and he's married now and you've yet to, you know, move on, and… I worry.”

Hanschen controls the urge to flinch and tells himself that he'll wait until tomorrow to berate himself for being _So fucking obvious, god, they all know and they all pity for you_. He takes a sip of his newly acquired water. He forces a smile.

“You’re _always_ worrying, Mama Anna,” He says, forcing a smile and a teasing tone, putting a hand on her arm. Anna rolls her eyes but giggles at the nickname. “I’m fine.”

She doesn't seem convinced, but she nods. “You know, I have a friend in the city, his name's Gregor and-”

Anna is interrupted by someone bumping into her. Hanschen looks up at them, sharp words on ready on his lips, but they die when he sees Melchior Gabor standing there sheepishly in his tux.

“Melchior,” Hanschen says, vaguely surprised. Melchior and Hanschen are no more friends now than they were at the bar, having only spoken for best man business or for the occasional illicit pity hookup. Melchior had, in fact, offered him a handjob in the church before the ceremony, but they rarely spoke outside of that. Melchior approaching him in public was new territory.

“Hanschen,” Melchior responds with an awkward twist of his lips. “And Anna Bananna.”

“Melchior! Your speech was so nice,” Anna says.

“Your speech was wonderful, too,” Melchior says, before darting his eyes up to look at Hanschen. “Both of yours.”

“Thank you,” Hanschen says, slightly confused. He had only half-paid attention to the other speeches, too busy being full of regret and drinking champagne, and he hadn't thought that, of all people, Melchior Gabor would be complimenting his.

“Yeah, but I think we can all agree that Ilse had the best speech,” Melchior says, smiling.

Ilse's speech had included anecdotes about how Moritz and Ernst had both called her in panic during their first date, at the same time, and how Moritz facetimed her at three in the morning to help him pick out an engagement ring. Ilse is naturally charismatic and her speech had been just the right combination of quirky and cute, not to mention that she had restrained herself from telling any off-color jokes, so it makes sense that everyone had enjoyed hers the most.

“No one can beat Ilse when she puts her mind to it,” Hanschen says, “She's a force of nature.”

“A hurricane and a half,” Melchior looks at Hanschen and holds his gaze, a soft smile on his lips. Hanschen feels his face heat up a bit. He takes a long drink of his water, if only for an excuse to drop his eyes and not have to respond.

“ _O_ kay,” Anna says, drawing out the _O_ , “Well, it looks like Thea and Georg are trying to drink each other under the table again, I should probably go break that up.”

“Mama Anna,” Hanschen and Melchior say in synch. Hanschen jerks his wide eyes to Melchior's, shocked, and Melchior laughs a bit awkwardly.

“Just like high school, right?” Melchior asks.

Anna shrewdly looks at the two of them with an intensity that has Hanschen flushing. “I suppose. Though, what would little Hansi Rilow have to say if he knew that he was such good friends with Melchior Gabor now?”

“We're,” Hanschen starts, only to falter. They're not _what_? They were fuckbuddies, he supposes, and, apparently, Melchior sees them as friendly enough to initiate this conversation. “I’m sure that a high school version of me would’ve understood that people can change.”

Anna hums contemplatively, squinting at Hanschen. “Sure, Hansi. I’ll see you around.”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Hanschen says, waving to Anna as she wheels herself off to make sure that their friends don’t drink themselves into a stupor, leaving Melchior and himself alone.

After several seconds of silence--in which Melchior _looks_ like he wants to say something, or wants Hanschen to say something, or _something_ , but nothing happens--Hanschen nods to himself. “Yes, well, I suppose I should go mingle as well-”

“Hanschen,” Melchior says, then nothing else. Melchior takes a deep breath. Hanschen sighs silently.

Hanschen doesn’t know what Melchior wants. Sure, they didn’t hook up that first night, and Hanschen sort of regrets that, but they’ve hooked up since then and now Melchior is needlessly upping the ante and Hanschen doesn’t _understand_. He keeps looking at Hanschen like Hanschen’s forgotten a line in a script that only Melchior knows, and it’s… It’s too much for Hanschen to deal with.

Hanschen makes a grab for his water glass, an attempt to do _something_ , but it’s sloppy and he manages only to knock it over, shattering the glass and spilling water all over himself. “Fuck.”

He hurries out of the reception hall, ignoring Melchior and anyone else who tries to stop him. He gets to the bathroom, leans on the sink, and sighs. He runs a rough hand over his face before meeting his own eyes in the mirror. His face is more sallow than he remembers and his hair hangs limply despite the near-obnoxious amount of product that Wendla had forced into it earlier. He looks tired. He _is_ tired. _God, what have I done with my life?_

He weakly pats at his suit with the 1-ply paper towels, knowing that it’ll barely make any difference, until the door swings open.

Melchior enters. “I didn’t know if you wanted to get away or if it was supposed to be a signal or-”

“What do you _want_?” Hanschen snaps.

“I-”

“You’re so infuriatingly confusing and I can never read you and-”

“Hanschen,” Melchior says, eyes wide and concerned, “Take a deep breath.”

Hanschen, suddenly aware of how quick his breath had been getting, takes a breath. He looks away from Melchior, staring down at his own clenched fists. No one speaks.

“What do you want?” Melchior asks eventually, after a second or a minute or an eternity.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” Melchior sighs, “I wanted to maybe get you off, but you seem really fucking stressed for some reason, and I just want to know if I should back off or what.”

 _What do_ I _want?_ Hanschen thinks with a sad twist of his mouth, _Isn’t that the question of the hour_. Hanschen looks back up at Melchior, at how unsure he looks. Hanschen thinks. _What do I want?_

He wants Melchior to stop being weird. He wants his heart to stop aching. He wants to be _someone else_. He wants to be a Hanschen Rilow whose over all of this, who doesn’t hurt every time he looks at Ernst and doesn’t want every time he looks at Melchior, who has a wonderful girlfriend or boyfriend or maybe even just a cat, who can observe all of this from afar and feel okay.

Hanschen takes another deep breath. “I want to suck you off.”

Melchior looks a bit shocked. “But your suit-”

“Do you really think that anyone out there is going to notice or ask?” Hanschen laughs bitterly, “I could go out there naked and no one would comment, they’re all too busy feeling sorry for me.”

“You don’t really think that, do you?” Melchior asks, frowning at Hanschen, but he’s unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

“Ernst’s mother apologized to me earlier like one of my family members just died,” Hanschen says, getting onto his knees for Melchior Gabor in a public bathroom at the wedding reception of the man of his dreams. “I don’t think it, I _know_.”

Then he takes Melchior’s cock into his mouth, cutting off all speech. Melchior puts a hand in Hanschen’s hair, like he always does, but he doesn’t tighten his grip. He lets Hanschen work him. Hanschen closes his eyes, feeling the weight of Melchior’s cock rest on his tongue, gently fluctuating the suction he uses, slowly taking Melchior apart with his mouth. Melchior comes eventually, pulling out of the warm cavern of Hanschen’s mouth and coming into Hanschen’s hand. Hanschen flexes his jaw a few times, as he stands, washes off his hand in the sink.

“Listen, Hanschen, I was thinking-”

“We shouldn’t do this anymore,” Hanschen interrupts, staring down at the chrome of the sink fixtures and his own hands. Melchior doesn’t respond. “I mean, we don’t really have reason to see each other anymore, and you- we should work on moving on. From Moritz and Ernst.”

“Um,” Melchior starts. He’s silent for several seconds afterwards, long enough that Hanschen looks up from his hands to look at Melchior through the mirror. Melchior’s mouth is open and unspeaking, his eyes wide with shock and something else that Hanschen doesn’t want to examine.

“It’s for the best,” Hanschen says, swallowing down any doubts and turning around with a beatific smile set in place, “Don’t you agree?”

Melchior’s face does some contortions until it’s something close to blank. “Yeah. For the best. I’m gonna,” Melchior gestures weakly behind himself, at the party that’s gone on in their absence. “I mean, Thea was trying to set me up with one of her friends.”

Hanschen nods, thinks about Thea’s friends who’ve come to the wedding, “If Thea likes them, they’ve got to be great. Good luck.”

“Yeah,” Melchior says again. He turns to leave and then, with his hand on the door and without turning around, says, “I hope you get what you want, Hanschen.”

Hanschen, who had begun to try and brush the wrinkles out of his suit, freezes. “I’m sorry?”

Melchior shrugs, still facing the door. There’s a moment of silence. “Goodbye, Hanschen.”

“Goodbye, Melchior,” Hanschen replies. Hanschen watches Melchior’s back inflate as he takes a breath, watches him open the door and leave, watches him walk away until the swinging door closes and blocks Hanschen’s vision.

Hanschen closes his eyes tight for a second, let’s himself feel a slight tug of wanting from behind his chest, before shutting it down. This is what he wants. This is for the best.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey you! thanks for reading this. i wrote an au of _my own au_ which is, in the words of my girlfriend, "fucking extra" (and tbh i agree), so thanks for reading it anyway.
> 
> i actually had a lot of fun writing this??? i hope you had fun reading it. and ya melchior is starting to fall in love w hanschen bc i love Unrequited Love (which it is bc hanschen still p much only has the beginnings of Feelings but he cut that right tf off lmao) but yeah!!! thanks so much for reading this silly thing! comments, kudos, and bookmarks fuel my hopes and dreams, etc etc etc, goodbye!

**Author's Note:**

> [Main Tumblr (liveinlivingcolor)](http://www.liveinlivingcolor.tumblr.com) | [Writing Tumblr (nacreousglowclouds)](http://nacreousglowclouds.tumblr.com/) | [Personal Twitter (@squidias)](http://twitter.com/squidias)


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